Special thanks to kenjisato, a generous volunteer in Literotica.com's Volunteer Editors program, for editing this piece. All remaining errors and questionable stylistic choices are the sole responsibility of the author.
kenjisato also very graciously edited the prior chapter, but due to an oversight on the part of the author, proper accreditation was not prepended.
******
My name's Jenny and I'm twenty. I like the little rhyme; it makes me smile. I think I have a birthday coming up soon, but I'll have to check with the Mistresses.
So, after all of that sex, it's finally time to talk about what really matters to college girls: academic fundamentals!
... Should I try to keep the joke going a little longer? Or should I confess that it's not actually a joke? Some college girls pick majors that demand specialization. Others, though, need to be well-rounded. Who knows what a Mistress or Master will want or need? They might want somebody who's a really good cook, not just a great lay. They might want somebody who's fun to talk to in between awesome sex sessions. The list goes on and on like that. College girls learn how to serve, please, and obey. All three of those divine commandments, if you think about it, depend in part on knowing and understanding things -- and those things can be anything!
With very few exceptions, though, knowing and understanding sex is at the top of the list.
After taking a quick restroom break, Lily and I arrived at Sexual Anatomy, our second class ever. We got our temporary panties, slipped them on, and walked into a college classroom straight out of a movie.
We sat next to each other, of course. Around us, I noticed quite a few of the girls from Challenge Yoga. With a few more glances, I saw that the class was comprised of exactly the same twenty-four girls. That made me curious as to the fates of the four girls who'd received powerful punishment spanks at the end of that class. I saw that Olivia, Jacqueline, and Penny, who'd all gotten five apiece, were slightly elevated in their regular seats. I could see something that looked like a futuristic, neon-blue gel cushion underneath Jacqueline's tiny butt. Annabelle, who'd endured ten, was standing at a special desk off to one side. Her roommate, Mary-Beth, was seated in a regular chair right next her, at the end of the row. I was quite pleased that the college possessed such foresight, and very happy that all my classmates were still on the same page: once disciplined or punished, we were all good girls again. There was no more shame, and no need to ostracize. We'd all do our best and try our hardest, and we'd support each other along the way.
At the front of the class stood a professorial Mistress; she was a short, black woman with striking white hair tied up in a smart bun. Before I even had a chance to appreciate her outfit, she pressed a button on her lectern, and the lights started turning blue. Thoughts of a stern, sexy head librarian pulling me into a soundproof back room and spanking all the rulebreaking noises out of me evaporated -- and she was most definitely a 'one warning only' kind of woman. Instead, I merely appreciated how put-together she looked in her smart formal wear. Her stern, black, thick-rimmed glasses were almost certainly decorative, but they were on point.
Over the span of a few moments, the lights got
really
blue -- as blue as I'd ever seen them. They burned the sex right out of me. It felt fine. It felt reasonable, logical, and sensible. I noticed the change in the entire class. There was no more flirting, period -- no furtive glances, no wandering hands, no giggles, and no lingering smells of arousal. The air was crisp and cool -- so much so that it was a bit heady. All the girls retrieved their laptops from their backpacks and set them up.
"Good morning, class," the unnamed Mistress intoned. Her voice was loud and clear, and also emanated from speakers around the room. I detected the hint of a British accent. It didn't even occur to me whether I would've found it sexy under different circumstances. The blue light had burned away even the urge to study my desires from afar.
"Good morning, Mistress," we all replied, practically in unison.
"I'm Mistress Claudia, and I'll be your Sexual Anatomy professor this semester. As the term progresses, this class will transition from more blue to more green. Why? Because good college girls pay very close attention, and remember everything they're taught. What remains after that is to practice, practice, practice. Are you good college girls?"
"Yes, Mistress."
She smiled sharply, conveying that she almost believed us, but would require proof. "Plug your laptops into the classroom's dedicated network. You'll see a power connector and an ethernet cable. There we go. Now I can keep an eye on your machines. Open up your pre-downloaded application entitled 'Interactive Anatomical Maps,' found in this class's subdirectory. Your dorm Mistresses should have given you the overview of the main directory structure."
"Yes, Mistress."
Mommy C had indeed gone over all of that with us, so in another minute, I was ready to learn -- and learn I did! That first class focused almost exclusively on male genitalia, which made sense, but Mistress Claudia assured us that we'd be covering almost every major system in the male and female bodies. That made sense to me, too; I'd already learned that sex could encompass any and every part of the body.
Even without the handy clock down at the right corner of my laptop, I would've been able to gauge how far along the class was; the blue light remained as strong as ever, but the lecture eventually veered towards the practical. Discussions of nerve maps, blood flow, and classic erogenous zones all raised the obvious question of how best to stimulate them, and that question was answered in great detail by our supremely capable instructor Mistress. One thing she impressed repeatedly, however, was that every "default human" had their own quirks. That's what we were starting with; later, we were going to learn more about what made college girls, college boys, and college sissies unique.
"'Plans are useless, but planning is essential,'" Mistress Claudia said wryly. "I'd add, 'No plan survives contact with the enemy,' but of course the bodies you'll be serving are not your enemies. They are your best friends. They are your reason for being. Still, the default human bodies you encounter will present challenges just as surely as they'll present opportunities. You must learn to plan, when to change or abandon your plans, and when and how to improvise. Your acting and psychology classes will cover much the same ground from different angles. Here, you'll be focusing on the nuts and bolts, so to speak. In future semesters, you'll be combining and synthesizing more of what you will have learned.
"Well," she amended, "speaking of those nuts, not literally 'here.' Everyone gather your things. We're headed next door."
"Yes, Mistress," we replied, and did as she commanded. With great efficiency, we followed her to what I assumed was going to be the green part of the class.
The room next door reminded me of the Cum Lunch cafeteria. The major differences were that the twenty-four dummies were arranged in four rows of six, were all in the same standing position, and didn't have tubes coming out of them. I reasoned that our practice session was going to be cum-free. We deposited our backpacks on wall hooks, then waited for our instructions. The lights were still blue. It was interesting seeing all those dummies -- with extremely realistic cocks, balls, and pubic patches attached -- without feeling a single trace of sexual arousal.
"Name map on the right wall, girls," Mistress Claudia said. "Find your Master. Tingles will confirm. Unless you have a relevant predeclared major, his attributes are going to be random. Your assignment today will be to work on fundamentals. I'll hardly call the requisite variations to technique 'improvisation' this time around. Today it's cock, balls, taint, anus, and prostate. I'll be generous just this once and remind you not to dive headlong into ass play. Some of your dummies love it; some hate it; some need to be eased into it.
"Good responses and bad responses will be mostly obvious, but if you make a serious mistake, a yellow light will flash. If you do it again, or if you're particularly reckless, that's a red light. This is not 'Challenge Blowjobs,' however, girls. I do not expect to see any red lights, and if I do, I will be extremely displeased. A green flash indicates an orgasm. Today, I only expect a few of those -- mostly from the girls who lucked into a Master that likes a good prostate massage."
All of us dutifully checked the board, then found our Master. The tattoos on my face tingled, confirming I was face to face with the correct one. The dummy's face was quite detailed, actually, but its creators didn't try to push it all the way towards realism. It was a mildly cartoonish version of a normal, hum-drum, thirty-something face, complete with some light stubble.
My mouth twitched in a smirk. Something about the blue light let me appreciate the college's subtle humor right away: no tingles on the wrists, back, or ankles just then -- just on the face, which was about to get a workout. I'd missed that little joke the day prior at Cum Lunch.
"On your knees, girls," Mistress Claudia commanded.
"Yes, Mistress," came the well-organized reply from all of us, and we sank down onto the provided pillows, which were loosely attached to the dummies via a cord.
"And, begin," she said, then began her rounds, up, down, and across the rows. Her professional pumps made dull clacks on the deceptively soft floor. It occurred to me I might use them to sense where she was, but I also knew that dividing my focus would have been a very bad idea. I had a 'Master' to serve.
The light never turned green. I shrugged, but otherwise didn't question it. What followed was the most curious almost-sex of my short college career. With nary a sexual feeling in my body -- not even from the anal plug still inside of me -- I went to work applying what I'd just learned during the lecture, plus a few introductory rituals that Mistress Vivienne had taught me in private, prior to my initiation. I made sure to make noises occasionally, too. I didn't know if the dummies were designed to respond to them, but I wanted to do a good job for Mistress Claudia.
My dummy sported a small, limp, uncircumcised, peach-colored noodle surrounded by coarse, curly, light-brown hair. Its balls hung down a bit, with one dangling much lower than the other. The sack had hair, too. In fact, the dummy had body hair pretty much everywhere; it was far more realistic in that way than the one I'd been paired with for my first Cum Lunch.
I tried my best to treat the dummy like a real person. I kissed it gently, looked up at its unmoving brown eyes, and showed it that I loved its cock and very much wanted it. I rubbed its hairy thighs, gave its sack feather touches along the seam with a fingertip, then began tickling it with all of my fingertips as I teased the little cock's covered head with my tongue.
